


i kill'd not thee with half so good a will

by aircaliburs



Series: the dreams we never knew we had [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crimson Flower, F/F, Sad Ending, Soulmates, cathmir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25713814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aircaliburs/pseuds/aircaliburs
Summary: soulmates au: in which only shamir's soulmate can kill her
Relationships: Catherine/Shamir Nevrand
Series: the dreams we never knew we had [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081772
Kudos: 11





	i kill'd not thee with half so good a will

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings: alcohol use, violence, and character death.  
> takes place on crimson flower route.  
> (title is from julius caesar, the best shakespeare play)

Catherine found Shamir with a hole in her stomach.

She was laying on a rooftop in Derdriu, blood pooling around her and staining the shingles of some unlucky merchant’s shop. Her eyes were closed, and her face was pale. Her jacket was torn in multiple places, including where the huge, gory gash on her stomach was. Catherine suspected it was an axe that did the job, likely belonging to the pirate whose corpse laid in the street below them. 

Shamir had stayed post in the city to snipe any invading wyvern riders while the rest of the knights attacked the ships. Her job was normally one of the safest. This battle was an exception.

Catherine’s chest tightened. She wanted to believe that she’d seen enough allies fall in battle to be used to it by now. The problem was, of anyone in the knights, Shamir was the one she was least prepared to bury.

The knight knelt down beside her partner. “Shamir... I’m sorry,” she said, her voice wavering. She grabbed Shamir’s hand. “I’m sorry I couldn’t... I...”

Catherine realized then that a faint warmth lingered in Shamir’s hand.

She shifted her fingers down to her wrist. When she felt it, she nearly fainted. 

“Medic!” Catherine shouted. “I need a medic!”

* * *

Shamir woke up in, of all places, a bed in the monastary’s infirmary. She looked down at her body to find a blanket draped over her. Beneath it, she was topless save for bandages wrapped around her stomach. Carefully, she pulled herself up to sitting. The wound on her stomach hurt like a bitch, but it was the only major injury she had. That she could tell, anyway.

She heard heels clicking against the stone floor in the hallway, growing louder until Manuela Casagranda appeared around the privacy curtain. “Ah! Shamir,” she said. “I’m relieved you’ve woken up, but you shouldn’t move too much just yet. That wound hasn’t healed yet.” 

“Can I at least go piss?”

“Of course you can. But you must let me accompany you to the privy.” Like most things the songtress said, it sounded more like a melody than an offer to escort Shamir to the toilet.

Shamir pulled her legs over the side of the bed and rose. “I can walk my-” she began, but as she took her first steps, the room spun around like a carousel. Manuela appeared at her side and steadied her. 

“Those painkillers have a side effect of dizziness, among other things. I would be surprised if you could walk on your own now. Anyway, shall we?”

_ Some painkillers these are if my stomach still hurts like this _ , thought Shamir. But she shuddered at the thought that her pain could still be much worse. 

Manuela gave Shamir a spare jacket of hers to cover her chest and took her down the hall to the second-floor privy. When they returned to the infirmary, Manuela began replacing Shamir’s bandages. 

“You really should be grateful that Marianne is as talented as she is,” Manuela said as she unpinned the cloth binding Shamir’s torso. “She’s the one who sealed up your minor cuts and stopped the bleeding on this one until you got back to the monastery.”

“Speaking of. In the battle, did any of the students…?”

“Oh, no. Fortunately there were no losses, and you were the only one with injuries this bad. Though I suppose that’s  _ un _ fortunate for you.” 

“Sure.”

“What happened, anyway?”

“Western church needed help dealing with a pirate problem.”

“No, what happened to  _ you?  _ Catherine said she found you on top of a roof.”

“Oh. I was shooting down pirates on wyverns. One of them landed on the roof I was on, but was still alive. His wyvern got spooked — I didn’t hit it — and flew off. The guy came at me and landed a few blows before I managed to push him off the building. I guess I passed out after that.”

“I see.” Manuela finished unwrapping the old bandages and set them on the floor. “That reminds me, I should tell you that it’s Wednesday now. You’ve been out for nearly three days.”

Shamir could now see that the wound stretched diagonally across her stomach, as if her body had been severed in two at the torso. It had been tended with stitches, but was still a bit bloody in places. She’d probably opened it up a bit when she got up earlier. “Wait, I was unconscious for three days because of a flesh wound?”

“This is no flesh wound, my dear Shamir,” explained Manuela. She picked up a clean roll of bandages and began rewrapping the wound, starting at Shamir’s lower back. “I’ve had to keep you unconscious with magic to perform surgery. You were bleeding internally. I had to repair lesions on your stomach and small intestine. Not to mention you lost so much blood. I used a regrowth spell to restore your blood cells, but that’s an uncomfortable process for the body so I kept you under for that as well. By all means, you shouldn’t be alive right now. You’re quite lucky.” 

“I didn’t realize it was that bad,” said Shamir, her voice lowered by a hair. 

Manuela finished wrapping the wound and stuck a pin in the fabric to keep the bandage in place. She then scooped up the old bandages and carried them over to the wastebasket. “Do you need anything else?” she asked.

But before Shamir could answer, the infirmary door cracked open. “Manuela, how is Shamir?”

It took Shamir only a second to recognize the voice as Catherine’s. 

Manuela smiled. “She actually just woke up,” she replied.

Catherine opened the door fully and stepped into the room to peer around the privacy curtain that shielded Shamir. When she saw that Shamir really was sitting up in her sickbed and wide awake, a smile crossed her lips. “Thank the goddess,” she said. “You had us worried.”

“So I’ve heard,” replied Shamir. 

“I suppose I’ll leave the two of you to catch up,” said Manuela. “But before I leave, here, Shamir” — she handed her the jacket she had borrowed earlier — “for your modesty. Catherine, make sure she doesn’t try and run off. I’ll be back later to give you more painkillers.”

Shamir blushed as she slipped her arms into the jacket. She had, for a moment, forgotten that she was exposed. 

Catherine sat down on the stool beside Shamir’s bed. Shamir noticed that Catherine always sat with her legs apart, never crossed at the ankles like most noblewomen. She was always in a sturdy stance. “That’s a nice jacket,” she said, a drop of sarcasm in her voice.

Shamir glanced down at the loaned clothing. It was a collarless cotton jacket dyed a muted blue. Around the neck were flowers embroidered with white thread. Certainly not a knight’s attire. “Not exactly my style, no.”

“Heh, yeah.” 

An awkward silence expanded between them.

“Shamir…” Catherine finally said, “I don’t know how to say how relieved I am to see you recovering. When I found you bleeding out on the rooftop… I really, really thought you were gone. I didn’t think you’d have survived, having lost that much blood, being torn up like that.”

Shamir leaned back against the bedframe and glanced up at the ceiling. “Manuela told me as much. I shouldn’t have survived that blow. My carelessness should have cost me my life… and yet I’m here.”

“I’m glad. I’m — we’re fortunate to have you still with us.”

“Hmph. Funnily enough, I don’t think it’s just fortune.”

“What do you mean?”

Shamir closed her eyes for a moment. “When I told my mother that I was going to become a mercenary, years ago, she performed a blessing on me.” She recalled the day, a day she hadn’t thought of in a long time. She hadn’t really had a reason to think about it. She opened her eyes and said, “She gave me the blessing of fate, so that no one can kill me except for my soulmate.”

“What? Is that a real thing?”

“The blessing, or soulmates?”

“Both.”

“I’m still not entirely sure.” She recalled the day she told her mother her intention to become a mercenary, to take care of herself rather than remain a burden on her family. In hindsight, she was too young to be making that decision — she was only eleven. Or was she twelve? Enough years had passed that she couldn’t quite remember. Her mother sat with her on her bed and laid her old spellbook between them. She held Shamir’s hand and whispered the incantation.  _ “If you are to die by the hands of another, it will only be by those of the one to whom your heart is bound,”  _ she had told her once the rite was completed, reading verbatim from the spell’s description. 

“So you’re saying that the reason you didn’t die from your wounds in that last battle is because the person who inflicted them wasn’t your soulmate?” asked Catherine. 

“Maybe,” Shamir replied. “For the longest I assumed that my mom had done the incantation as just something to make us feel better about me going off to be a fighter. I was never sure it really worked. But seeing that I’ve apparently survived a deathblow… maybe her blessing worked.”

“I’ve never heard of magic like that.”

“It’s local to Dagda. I’ve never seen anyone in Fodlan use it.”

“That’s… incredible. You’re practically invincible.”

But Shamir shook her head. “For one, there’s a million ways to die that don’t involve getting a sword stuck in you. But I doubt the whole soulmate thing too. I don’t think I’m ‘destined’ for anyone. And if I was, how would I know?”

“Aw, come on, Shamir. Won’t you entertain some romantic fantasy?”

Shamir replied, “No.” 

“Not even for fun?”

“No. What are you, sixteen?” 

“No, I’m just — “ Catherine sighed. “Whatever. I guess all I can say is, if you believe in soulmates or not, I’m glad yours isn’t some scummy pirate.”

“Maybe,” said Shamir.

* * *

A few weeks later, Manuela finally deemed Shamir ready to go back to work. Catherine suggested that they celebrate by spending an evening at the tavern in town. 

“Are you sure you want another mug?” the tavernkeep asked Shamir. 

“What do I look like to you? A rabbit?” challenged Shamir. With six mugs of mead in her already, her aloofness had fallen away to reveal a more talkative and spirited woman. “Give me another!”

Catherine laughed as the tavernkeep rolled his eyes and poured Shamir another mug. She had had just as much alcohol as Shamir but wasn’t feeling it as hard yet. She’d always been able to hold her liquor. “I’ve never seen you drink like this,” she said. 

“I’m tired of being stuck inside,” Shamir said, and took a sip. “I want to have a good time!” 

Catherine raised her own mug towards Shamir. “I’ll drink to that.”

Shamir raised her mug to tap Catherine’s and took another sip. “I hate, I hate being useless. I’ve got to do… things.” 

“Of course! You’re a knight, after all.”

“I’m a knnnnnnight,” mumbled Shamir. She took another sip. “Weird. I didn’t think I’d be here…. I’m a merc. A. Merc.”

Catherine nodded. It was best to just let her babble on. 

“I miss being a merc. My boyfriend was there.” She took a sip. “My soulmate.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in soulmates?”

“My soulmate… he died. He’s dead.”

Catherine knew that Shamir had fallen in love before and subsequently lost her boyfriend in the war. What she didn’t know was that Shamir thought he was her soulmate. 

Shamir slumped on the bar. “I don’t believe in soulmates. ‘Cuz he’s gone.”

“Are you… okay? Shamir?”

“I’m fine!” She shot up and took another messy sip of mead, spilling all over the table, her chin, and her clothes.

“Ohhhhhhh-kay.” Catherine finished off her drink and stood up. “Shamir, I think it’s time to leave.” 

“Leave?”

“Mm-hm. Let’s take you back to the monastery.”

“Why?”

Catherine grabbed Shamir’s hand and helped her off her chair. “Because it’s time to stop drinking,” she replied.

“No it’s not!” But Shamir let Catherine lead her out of the bar anyway. 

Catherine promised the tavernkeep she’d pay off their tab the next day, when she was sober. She walked out into the moonlit streets with her mead-soaked friend leaning against her. 

“Catherine, I’m dizzy,” complained Shamir. 

“I am too,” said Catherine, though she knew she wasn’t nearly as unsteady as Shamir was. She was walking straight, or she thought she was. “It’s okay, we’re almost there.” 

Eventually, they reached the main gate. The night guard shook her head disdainfully as she let the drunken duo through. The monastery was nearly desolate as they made their way through the main hall, to the knights’ quarters, to Catherine’s room. Catherine was grateful it was on the first floor — she wasn’t sure she or Shamir could handle a flight of stairs at the moment. 

“Shamir, let’s get you into clean clothes,” Catherine said as she opened the door.

Shamir, however, stumbled over to her bed and laid down face-first with her legs hanging off the side. “But I want to lay down,” she said. 

Catherine sighed and went to Shamir’s wardrobe to find some clean clothes for her. She pulled out a cotton nightgown and brought it to her friend. “Here. Put this on.”

Sitting up to take the dress in her hands, Shamir remarked, “But this is yours.”

“Yes, and you’re going to borrow it. Your clothes smell like a drunkard.”

Wordlessly, Shamir slipped off her boots, socks, and pants. However, it didn’t seem that she was able to figure out the buttons on her blouse, as she kept running her thumb over the top button without managing to slip it through its hole. Catherine, the more capable drunk, sat next to her and began unbuttoning the shirt for her.

Shamir giggled. “You… you’re undressing me.”

“Only because you’re too far gone to get yourself into clean clothes,” Catherine retorted, rolling her eyes. But her face did grow hot with the acknowledgment that Shamir was sitting only inches away from her wearing nothing but her undergarments. It was different from when she’d accidentally walked in on her topless in the infirmary. They were alone in her room this time, and so, so, so close to each other… 

Catherine shook off her arousal and finished getting Shamir’s shirt off.  _ It’s only because I’ve been drinking,  _ she assured herself.  _ I’m always horny when I’m drunk.  _ She then pulled her spare nightgown over Shamir’s head. Shamir, thankfully, was able to get her arms through the sleeves without tangling herself. 

“Catherine… thank you,” said Shamir. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Shamir fell forward and wrapped her arms around Catherine. “I like you, Catherine. You’re nice. You’re really nice.”

“H-hey!” Catherine stammered. “I’m your partner, so I’ll help you out. It’s nothing.”

“I like you,” Shamir repeated, burying her face into Catherine’s chest. “You know… you know what that means? I like you. I wish you liked me.”

“What do you mean? Of course I like you! I wouldn’t have gone out with you tonight if I didn’t.”

“No one likes me… no one loves me like he did. He’s gone now.”

“I know, Shamir. I’m sorry.” Catherine wrapped an arm around her and gave her a squeeze. Poor Shamir, who silenced all emotions on the battlefield, couldn’t contain them when she was drunk. “I know I’ll never be… him, but I’m here for you.” 

But Shamir pulled away from Catherine. “I wish you liked me the way you like Rhea.”

“Shamir… Of course I put Lady Rhea first. I’m in her service. But you’re still my partner, and I do like you. Really.”

Shamir faced Catherine. Even in the dim moonlight of the bedroom, her cheeks glowed red from the mead. “Really?” she asked. 

Catherine’s heart hammered against her chest.  _ It’s just the alcohol,  _ she reminded herself, before telling Shamir, “Yes.” 

Shamir reached up and ran her thumb against Catherine’s cheek. Before Catherine could ask what she was doing, Shamir leaned in and pressed her lips against hers. 

Catherine, against her better judgement, kissed back. 

She wrapped her arms around Shamir, letting her hands wander up and down her back. The kiss was messy. Shamir tasted of mead, but Catherine didn’t mind, perhaps because she was already drunk herself and perhaps because she enjoyed the feeling of Shamir’s lips sucking on hers, of her arms wrapped around her neck and into her hair, of her breasts pressed against her body. 

Shamir pushed into Catherine, and the two of them fell on the bed, one atop the other. Shamir giggled and kissed Catherine again before moving her lips down her chin, to her neck. Catherine leaned into it, pressing her cheek against Shamir’s hair as she sucked her neck. She could hardly control herself. All at once, there were so many things she wanted to do, wanted Shamir to do to her, things she had never imagined between them before that somehow seemed attainable that night. 

And then she realized. 

Catherine pulled herself up to sitting, sliding out from beneath her friend. “What?” Shamir asked. 

“Shamir, this isn’t okay.”

“But I’m bisexual!”

Catherine couldn’t help but laugh. “I know. But that’s not the problem,” she said. “We’re both drunk. We’re not… thinking right. We shouldn’t do this.” 

“So you  _ don’t  _ like me.”

“Shamir, is that what I said?” She grabbed her pouting friend’s hand. “I don’t want to take advantage of you when you’re this drunk. I don’t want you to make a decision that you’ll regret. When we’re both sober… then we can talk about it.”

“Okay,” said Shamir with a sigh. 

But Catherine knew that once Shamir was sober, she probably wouldn’t want to sleep with her anymore. If she even remembered that night, anyway. She would lock away Shamir, the Spontaneous and Emotional Drunk and return to her life as Shamir, the Stone-Cold Knight of Seiros. 

It was disappointing. Catherine knew it wasn’t fair to want to sleep with Shamir because she knew she couldn’t be what Shamir wanted in a romantic partner. She was attracted to Shamir sexually, but romantically… Shamir was right. Lady Rhea would always be first for her. Catherine loved Shamir enough to know that she deserved more than a girlfriend who couldn’t truly, deeply love her. 

“Catherine…” Shamir began, “can I at least sleep in your room tonight?”

The request took Catherine off guard. But she smiled and replied, “Of course.” 

* * *

Neither Catherine nor Shamir spoke of that night again. Shamir’s memory of it was fuzzy, anyway. She remembered getting way too drunk on mead and trying to kiss Catherine, and that was about it. Of course, she clearly remembered waking up hungover in Catherine’s bed and her partner explaining what had happened the night before: they got drunk at the tavern, came back to Catherine’s room, and Shamir passed out before she could get to her own quarters. She kept it brief. Shamir knew it was only because she didn’t want to make her feel bad. She knew that if she’d gotten that drunk, she  _ must  _ have said something stupid. She could never shut up once she’d had a few drinks. 

She wondered about the kiss, though. She was mostly sure it had happened — she couldn’t erase the feeling that she had been intimately close to Catherine, that she’d tasted her lips, that she’d run her fingers through her hair. She couldn’t erase the feeling that Catherine had kissed her back. Even if the memory itself wasn’t clear, the feeling was. 

Whatever. It was probably too awkward for Catherine to talk about. After all, she probably wasn’t really interested in her that way. They were both drunk and acting foolish. That was it… right? 

Time went on. From her injury at the beginning of Wyvern Moon, Shamir was out of commission for the rest of the month. Red Wolf Moon brought cold weather down from the north. In Ethereal Moon, Shamir judged the White Heron Cup — even though she was barely qualified to judge a dance competition. At the end of the month, Jeralt passed away unexpectedly. Guardian Moon was marked by anxieties surrounding his death, and questions about how he’d been murdered and who had done it floated around the monastery like ominous clouds. 

In Pegasus Moon, Edelgard came up to her in the knight’s quarters. She had been sitting at a table by herself, drinking a glass of water and flipping through a book on lance techniques, when the Black Eagles’ house leader sat down across from her. 

“Shamir,” she asked, “how tied are you to your position with the knights?” 

Shamir shrugged. “It’s my job. I like it enough. And I owe it to them for taking me in when I had nowhere else to go.”

“I was wondering if you’d consider lending your services to the Empire instead.”

“You’re right to the point. Why?” 

“Because I get the impression that you’re critical of the current system of nobility, as I am,” said the silver-haired girl. 

“I think that the hierarchy is stupid, sure. I hated taking orders from stuck-up nobles when I was a merc. It’s fine here, since we’re mostly the ones telling nobles what to do.” 

“What if I told you we could do more than that?” 

Shamir narrowed her eyes. “Like what?” 

“I will soon be taking the position of emperor of my country. And with that, I am going to change Fodlan. I’m going to eradicate the nobility and create a new society where all people can thrive.”

“Sounds great,” Shamir replied, deadpan. “So what do you need me for?” 

“I am going to meet resistance to my ambitions. Specifically, from the church, which is the main force perpetuating these inequalities in Fodlan. They put so much emphasis on crests, on noble lineages, that people are willing to go to such lengths to have children with them… commoners, those without crests, are thrown to the gutters. But to my point. If you are willing to turn your back on the church, then I need you to support my cause. We need a talented fighter such as yourself.” 

Shamir didn’t disagree with what Edelgard had said. Even since she’d moved to Fodlan, she’d also thought that the whole obsession with crests was weird. And she didn’t particularly have any strong ties to the church now. She’d paid her debt to Rhea with a few years of service. She liked working alongside Catherine, but it didn’t seem that their relationship would be going anywhere beyond that. Perhaps it was time to move on from her role as a knight of Seiros. 

“Well, I don’t particularly care for the church. I don’t believe in the goddess at all,” said Shamir. “But how much will you pay me?”

* * *

Five years passed. 

Catherine felt remarkably alone. Shamir had quit the knights and joined Adrestia in the service of Emperor Edelgard. She’d told Catherine what she was doing the night after the fiasco in the Holy Tomb.

“It’s not personal,” she’d said. They were in Catherine’s room, though not sharing the bed this time. Catherine was leaning against her desk, arms crossed, with Shamir standing a few paces in front of her. 

“You say that, and yet you came to tell me.  _ Personally, _ ” said Catherine. “You came in here to tell me that you’re going to betray me.”

“I don’t want to betray you. I came to see if maybe you’d join me.”

“No.”

“Hmph. I knew it.”

“I’m loyal to Lady Rhea. I will never, ever act against her.”

“Your head is too far up Rhea’s ass to see anything. You follow her so blindly, you don’t form your own opinions about anything.”

Rage heated Catherine’s face. “My  _ opinion  _ is that the church shouldn’t be destroyed! What the hell is Edelgard even on about — a war? For what? I don’t understand what you see in her cause that makes you want to tear down the very place that saved your life.” 

“And I don’t understand why you won’t even entertain the notion of moving on with your life. Of choosing someone… something else over Rhea.”

Catherine recalled what she’d said that one night, months prior —  _ I wish you liked me the way you like Rhea.  _

“My time at Garreg Mach has come to an end,” Shamir continued, “and Edelgard offered me an opportunity. I don’t feel as strongly as she does, but I agree with her ideas for the most part. I’ll leave if I decide I don’t want to do it anymore.” 

“Well, good for you. Do what you will. But know that we will meet on the battlefield one day, and I will cut you down.” She knew as soon as she said it that it was impossible — Shamir’s blessing prevented her from being killed like that. But it didn’t matter. Catherine would never let her near Lady Rhea. 

“That doesn’t have to — “

“Leave, Shamir,” Catherine interrupted. “I will hand you over to Rhea on grounds of treason if you do not get out of this monastery.” 

Shamir left the room without a word, and it was the last Catherine saw of her. By the next morning, not a trace of her remained at Garreg Mach. Catherine was the only one who knew of her betrayal, though she never said anything about it. Perhaps she held a subconscious hope that Shamir wouldn’t actually join Edelgard, that she’d instead return to Dagda or wander the world as a mercenary or do anything that would keep her away from the war. But at some point the church’s scouts reported back that Shamir was indeed a knight of Adrestia, and all hope that the two of them wouldn’t meet on the battlefield was erased from Catherine’s mind. 

Catherine felt remarkably alone. 

Not just because she’d been betrayed by a friend, but because the Adrestian army had pushed the Church of Seiros up into Faerghus — the land that had alienated Catherine as an outlaw. Even though Lady Rhea had cleared her name, her homeland still felt hostile to her. She had the feeling that, at any moment, something awful was going to happen. 

Every awful thing that could have happened, did happen. The Adrestian army pushed through Faerghus, all the way to Fhirdiad. They killed King Dimitri at the Tailtean Plains and immediately afterward, they breached the capital. 

When the army arrived, Lady Rhea — Lady Seiros — ordered Catherine to set the city aflame. She begrudgingly obliged. It was a horrid tactic, but Catherine knew that Edelgard wasn’t afraid to play dirty herself. And most importantly, Lady Rhea’s orders would always supersede Catherine’s personal feelings. Lady Rhea knew what was best, and Catherine would trust her — even if it was difficult. 

Catherine used magic to set the fires, with fire spells being one of the few she’d mastered. She tried to target empty buildings, places where the occupants had fled the city as soon as word got out about the battle at the plains. 

She was about to set fire to a warehouse when she was approached. 

“Hello, Catherine,” said Shamir, pulling her bow from her back. “I always knew this day would come.” 

Catherine turned to see her walking in the flame-lit street. She was by herself — the main assault, it seemed, was currently centered on the south side of the city, while Shamir scouted ahead. “What a coincidence, so did I,” she replied. Seeing Shamir in person like this, she couldn’t hold back her anger. It rose in her like the fires of Fhirdiad. Here stood a traitor, a person she had once called a friend. “It seems that we now have no choice. We have nothing in common. Not our backgrounds, not our beliefs.”

“Not the way we lived… or the way we die.”

In a single movement, Shamir nocked an arrow and shot at Catherine’s arm. 

Catherine dodged the arrow and pulled Thunderbrand from its sheath. “I know I won’t kill you, I know you won’t fall in battle and that fighting you here is for naught, but I will stop you.” She lunged forward to strike. “I will defend Lady Rhea!”

Shamir lifted her shield to block the blow. Before Catherine could go in for another attack, she felt a sharp pain in her thigh. She pulled back. Shamir held a bloody arrow in her hand — she’d stabbed her with it as if it was a knife. 

_ Shit…  _ thought Catherine. Shamir was quick and nimble. She was an assassin, a woman who could kill you without you ever knowing she was there. Catherine knew, from countless sparring sessions with her, that the fight would be difficult. 

Shamir shot another arrow, and Catherine lifted her arm to block it with her armor. She charged forward to hit Shamir as she nocked another arrow, but Shamir evaded her sword. They began a dance of sort — slashing, shooting, evading — with neither of them gaining the upper hand. Even with Thunderbrand’s power pulsing through her hands, Catherine couldn’t land a solid blow. 

The fires raged around them. Catherine decided to use this to her advantage. She swung at Shamir from the side, which she evaded by stepping closer to a burning building. Catherine kept pushing Shamir toward the blaze, into the consuming heat. Shamir was too smart to get backed up into a fire, however. After dodging another blow from Thunderbrand, she ducked down and rolled to the side, giving her a window to escape the flames. 

Before Shamir could leap out of the way, the burning building she’d been pressed up against collapsed.

The building thundered to the ground, tossing flaming debris all around. Both Catherine and Shamir attempted to get out of the way. Catherine was stuck with a few heavy pieces of wood and burning shingles and was knocked to the ground. She recovered quickly, however, and immediately swatted at her hair, which had caught fire. She stood and ran over to find Shamir. 

She assumed that Shamir would have taken the collapse as an opportunity to run and hide somewhere to snipe her. But instead, Catherine found her laying on the ground with her right arm pinned beneath a wooden beam that was much larger than her own boy. She struggled to free her arm, wiggling and tugging, but couldn’t get herself out. A bloody scrape marred her face, and singes decorated her clothes and armor. She looked beaten and helpless.

When Catherine stood over her, Shamir looked up. She said nothing. Her eyes were dark and fierce. Both of them knew that Shamir couldn’t use her bow with one hand.

Both of them knew that Catherine was not going to save her. 

Catherine swung Thunderbrand down on Shamir, who blocked the strike with the shield in her free arm and kicked Catherine in the leg. She was knocked off balance for a second, but went in for another blow. This time, she managed to rip Shamir’s shield from the belts on her arm. With Shamir rendered defenseless, Catherine plunged her sword into Shamir’s torso and tilted it up beneath her breastplate, into her heart. 

Shamir choked when the blade went into her. Catherine could practically feel it through Thunderbrand, Shamir’s body seizing up in response to the blow. She couldn’t have died, though. The hands of destiny had tilted the sword away from her heart, saving Shamir from death by the hands of a stranger. Catherine was certain of that. But at the very least, she had incapacitated her, and had protected Lady Rhea from one of the most powerful invaders. She had done what had to be done. 

Catherine pulled Thunderbrand, dripping with blood, from Shamir’s body. The knight laid on the ground, bleeding out, eyes open. Her violet eyes laid unblinking, fixated on the sky above. She laid there motionless, as if… as if… 

“You’re trying to trick me, aren’t you?” Catherine asked in a wavering voice. But Shamir did not answer. 

_ She’s passed out,  _ thought Catherine. She knelt down to Shamir’s side and felt for a pulse in her wrist, just as she had done five years prior. It was selfish, but she wanted to know for certain that she and Shamir weren’t soulmates. They couldn’t be. Shamir had said herself — 

She had no pulse.

Catherine pulled up Shamir’s breastplate to expose her chest. Her pulse was likely just faint because of the trauma. Catherine pressed her ear to Shamir’s chest, smearing blood on herself from the wound she inflicted, to listen for Shamir’s heartbeat.

Nothing. 

_ “She gave me the blessing of fate, so that no one can kill me except for my soulmate _ ,” Shamir had told her, all those years ago.

Laying on Shamir’s burned, bloody body, Catherine felt a thousand things at once. She didn’t want to believe what Shamir had said about her blessing, that she could only be killed by her soulmate. She wanted to believe that she really was just a random person, who was once Shamir’s ally but had to kill her when they ended up on opposite sides of the war. She wanted that conversation in the infirmary five years ago to mean nothing. She wanted to have never heard Shamir say those things about who could kill her and who couldn’t. 

But somehow, Catherine knew that the blessing was real, that she and Shamir were soulmates and she had just killed her. 

Catherine was angry. Angry that Shamir chose the empire. Angry that Edelgard started a war. Angry that Lady Rhea told her to torch the city. Angry that she had followed orders. 

Mostly, she was disheartened and depressed, because she knew now that she and Shamir could have had a whole life together as partners. As soulmates. They could have served the knights together. They could have had more drinks together. They could have travelled the world, from Shamir’s homeland of Dagda all the way to Almyra. They could have had kids. They could have done anything besides being on opposing sides of a needless war. 

She wished she realized sooner. It shouldn’t have taken Shamir’s death, the fulfillment of the blessing, for her to realize how deeply she loved her. 

Catherine no longer cared to see an end to the war. She didn’t want to face Edelgard, nor Lady Rhea. It didn’t matter. 

She took Thunderbrand, stained with her soulmate’s blood, and pointed it towards herself. 

“Lady Rhea… My service ends here,” she said, and fell on her sword. It pierced her the same way it had pierced Shamir. Despite what Shamir had said, they would die the same way.

Catherine fell beside Shamir and, with the last of her strength, whispered to her:  _ “I’m sorry.”  _ She then pulled her sword from herself and grunted as she bled out. Whether it was Rhea or Edelgard who emerged from the battle victorious,it didn’t matter anymore. She would die here, beside Shamir. The flames would consume them, and they would rise into the sky as ash and smoke together. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hello, i have finally written another fic. i got really, really emotional about these two in my most recent playthrough!!! and so i had to write about them.
> 
> sorry it's sadstuck, i want to turn this into a series where i write some more fluffy au stories as well.
> 
> also, alcohol is bad. 
> 
> follow my twit @aircaliburs


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